Christmas Day
by robspace54
Summary: Even the hardest heart beats like the rest of us.
1. Chapter 1

Christmas Day

by robspace54

**Written purely for entertainment purposes and no infringement of any copyright by Buffalo Pictures is implied or inferred.**

Sometime after Doc Martin Series 2, Episode 8...

The school holiday had come at last and I needed a break. The school term was filled with all the usual drama of a primary school – illnesses, absences, a teacher who quit and the hurried search for a replacement which so far had come up empty. Who would want to move to Portwenn in December with the grim winter ready to set it? So far I was juggling both being Head Teacher and subbing for the year threes and I was both frazzled and knackered. I was really looking forward for the time off.

I was clearing away three months accumulated mess from my office desk when Sally Chadwick came in. "Still here?" she asked. Sally had stepped in to help out with Maureen on maternity leave and with having Fenn's twins odds are she would not be back any time soon, if at all. Sally was a good and hard worker and she'd been a real bulwark lately.

"Just trying to get a handle on all this," I waved my hand at the piles of debris. In some way my desk reflected my own affairs, after Danny had been sniffing around and he had finally gone. And then there was… Martin. Where did we stand?

"Plans for Christmas," Sally asked. "You must come over on Christmas Day. I did ask you three weeks back and so far, you haven't given me an answer."

After the last six weeks all I really wanted to do was sleep.

"Oh come on, Louisa!" Sally urged. "My girls and their guys are coming down, plus some of the other teachers and their lot will be stopping in. Nothing fancy – just come over for a bite, a drink; I've got some very good red laid in, and spend the day. We'll even watch Doctor Who!" she laughed.

She knew that I enjoyed that telly show. "Okay, fine."

"About two?"

"Can I bring something?"

"Just yourself and it is casual. Jeans and a jumper." She pecked me on the cheek. "You need a break, uhm… after everything." She winked. "Been a chore, eh?"

I'd not poured my heart out to anybody, but my turnabout from Danny to Martin and the upheaval of Julie Mitchell and Mark Mylow and Martin being found hangover and asleep on his kitchen floor had provided far too much fuel for the gossips.

And then there was the erotomania thing. I was NOT stalking Martin, just interested, and yes I did tell him I loved him. That was mere hours after he'd said the same to me, plus that I was beautiful. He deserved the slap I gave him; I still felt that way. "Oh yeah," I sighed.

Sally relaxed. "Any motion on the Doc Martin front?"

I shook my head. "Doctor Ellingham is very professional, Sally, don't… don't get _any_ ideas."

"Okay. See you Christmas then. Aren't you glad the school pageant is over? When Billy Wilson forgot his lines and the parents laughed, I'd thought he die right then and there. Poor kid. I really liked how you just went out on stage, whispered to him and he suddenly remembered. What did you tell him?"

Bill Wilson was our head shepherd in the Christmas pageant and he totally muddled up. What I told him was simple and direct and it worked. "Oh," I smiled at her, "just an old teacher's trick." I told the kid I was confident he could do it... and he recalled all his part and did a fine job from there.

"Keep your secrets, then. See you Christmas Day." She left. "Tah."

So after the weekend and I'd slept like the dead for a whole day, I felt refreshed enough to get over to Wadebridge and shop. A new dress for myself and a mystery I fancied and new jeans I found, which just a hint of stretch to them, fitted me like a glove – perfect for Sally's party. There was also the other thing I found and on impulse bought it.

Christmas Eve the weather was foul, blowing with rain, but the next morn the clouds had gone and the sun was pouring down out of a cloudless blue sky. It was cold and I bundled well up in my dressing gown as I hunched over a light breakfast. I did enjoy a good lay in and I just lazed around until it was time to shower and dress. Having no demands on my time for the whole weekend had done wonders for me – body and soul.

The new jeans I wore with a soft powder blue cardi over a white cami, and I was sitting down on the stairs to pull on my boots when I saw Martin go marching past the window. He was wearing his Burberry as it was cold, but there he was bare headed, but he didn't have his medical case with him. All the shops were closed so where was he off to?

Sally's prodding had been nibbling on me, so without thinking I went to the door and threw it open. Martin was not fifteen feet away, heading uphill, when I call to him. "Martin!"

He stopped and turned. "Louisa?"

And there we stood staring at each other. Well not quite staring as I was biting on my lip and he had his head cocked slightly quizzically and perhaps a little nervously.

I managed to ask, "Going somewhere?"

"Uhm, no…" He paused. "Taking a walk."

I crossed my arms as cold air chilled me. "Cold out."

"Nothing wrong with clean cold air."

True I supposed, but the air was giving my sinuses an ache. "Makes my head hurt."

"If that's the case," he came towards me, "you should wear a coat, and not…" he waved at my attire. "Plus a muffler, and hat with gloves. You can wrap the muffler about your neck and cover your mouth, which will warm the air before you, uhm…" he stopped. "Breathe through it."

The cold air froze my throat but it wasn't the chilled air that kept me silent. How could I talk to this very capable doctor about us, without delving into a medical lecture – _every_ time? I nodded. "Sure, sure."

He sighed. "Louisa, about the… uhm… thing. I apologize."

I stepped out and touch his left cheek. "Sure, sure. I see there aren't any lasting scars."

He looked stunned.

"That's a joke, Martin and well, just wanted to say, Happy Christmas," I said as a last-ditch effort.

He nodded. "I see. Yes." He squinted up at the sun. "Bright."

A little voice told me to do something before he went away. "Going to see Joan?"

"Dinner. Later."

"I see."

"Just walking."

I looked up and down the empty street. "You want to come in for a minute?"

He paused. "Something wrong?"

"No, no," I backed into the door. "Come on in. I'm frozen." He slowly followed me inside and I closed the door before all the warmth was sucked from my house. I pushed my hair back from my face where the cold breeze had blown it. "Windy."

"Yes," he looked around.

"Oh, here give me your coat."

He shucked out of his overcoat to reveal his usual natty attire. Today's was a gray suit and pale blue shirt with a deep blue tie, with thin pale stripes.

"We look like we match," I blurted out. "Blue?"

"Uhm, yes… I suppose." He looked like a scared rabbit. Did he think I was going to eat him or assault him?

I got a whiff of a very faint aroma of deodorant and aftershave and I reacted. "You smell nice."

He shrugged. "It's from a bottle Auntie Joan bought me last year." He winkled his nose. "Don't much care for it."

I leaned over and took a bigger whiff. "Smells very nice… very…"

He peered at me quizzically.

"You, Martin. It smells like you." I cleared my throat. "No nonsense – straight forward – that's you. That's what people like about you." I turned from him my eyes wide. What the bloody hell was I blathering on about? In desperation I saw the tin of holiday biscuits one of my more troublesome student's mum had sent to me. "Have a biscuit? I know you don't think much of…"

"Yes," he said. "That would be nice."

Miracle! "And I bet you're cold as well. Tea?" I went into the kitchen.

He peered down the stairs. "Don't go to any bother."

I picked up the kettle and shook it. "I'll just heat this and we'll have a cuppa."

He didn't bolt and came down stairs.

"Why don't you sit on the sofa?"

He looked at it. "Fine." He went and sat down like he was being strapped into an ejection seat. His arms and legs were straight, feet flat on the floor and pointed forward but his head turned to the glass doors. "Nice view."

"I like it." I started the cooker and the kettle started to sing. "See? In a jiff."

The cottage was silent but for the wind blowing outside for a minute. Then he touched his tie. "Louisa…"

"Yes?" I piled a platter with biscuits and crackers from the tin.

"You…"

"Yes?"

"Uhm, how has school been? I've seen a lot of students and parents with illness."

"The usual, yeah. Runny noses, lurky, and coughs. Mr. Coley has been running around like mad trying to keep our school clean."

He grinned. "Short man, old, mismatched shirt and tie, and battered trainers."

"That's him. Irwin Coley."

"I saw him last week."

"Is he okay? Sometimes he can be… forgetful."

"I can't discuss my patients, but… he is well… had a cut to his thumb which I was able to seal. No stitches required."

"Yeah, I saw a bandage on his hand."

"Told him to keep it dry."

The kettle started to sing. "I'll pour out. Even got some loose tea."

Martin almost smiled. "Good."

I snagged two mugs from the cabinet, steeped the tea in my ceramic pot, and poured it. "Sugar?"

He was staring at the floor. "Hm?"

"One or two? Lumps? Milk."

"One," he said. "Yes."

I dropped the sugar lump in his mug, took two myself, added the milk and handed his mug to him. "Cheers."

He clinked mugs with me and drank. "That's good."

"Orange pekoe. Don't see how some can drink black tea." I shuddered. "Ugh."

He nodded. "I usually have coffee – espresso. I take that black."

"Right." Take a note Louisa. Coffee black, but tea white. "Biscuit?" I offered him the plate and he took a tiny plain one.

I hankered after the chocolate ones or the huge ones coated with frosted sugar, but I held back. "Going out later, myself." I leaned against my kitchen table.

"Oh?" He bit into the biscuit and rolled it around. "Nice."

I didn't know if he meant the biscuit or my going out. "Uhm, Sally's. You know Sally Chadwick?"

He looked away. "Middle-aged? Blonde? Buxom?"

Clearly Martin had a system to remember people. "That's her. She's been helping out with Maureen gone. I hear the babies are fine."

Martin sipped at the tea. "Yes they are."

I sat down on the sofa at an angle just two feet from him, closer than we had been for weeks. I cleared my throat. "You said you were going to Joan's?"

"She's probably hacking the head off one of her chickens as we speak."

"Yeah." I wrinkled my nose. "I could never stand to see that."

"Me either," he said.

He and I drank some more. "Another biscuit? More tea?" I asked.

He held up a hand. "I'm fine."

"Yeah," I smiled at him encouragingly, "me too."

He stood up suddenly. "I'd better be… off."

"Oh?"

He pointed at his watch. "Told Joan I'd be there soon."

"Ah, yes," I said sadly for things seemed to be going not badly. He was at the door and shrugging into his coat when I remembered.

"Martin! Wait!" I clunked my mug down on the table and dashed upstairs.

I was rummaging through the pile of things on my dresser when I found what I had bought.

"Louisa?" he called up the stairs. "Something wrong?"

I pulled it out of the plastic bag, stuffed it into a gift bag, which had held another gift from a student and clattered back down just as he was putting foot to come up. "I…"

"What?" he said as he buttoned his Burberry.

I held out the bag. "I found… bought… well I was in a bookshop and they had an old book section… and thought…"

"What?"

The bag was creased and the handles a bit tatty. "It's for… uhm, yo... you," I stammered. "Not _exactly_ a Christmas present, but since you are here…"

His face softened. "You bought me a gift."

"Didn't cost very much and it is a bit musty," I said, grabbing the railing to give my other hand something to do. "So… take it."

He warily took the bag and reached in and pulling out the old book I'd found, his face broke into a smile. "Oh, Shell's book – _Techniques of Surgery_!" He thick fingers opened the cover. "York - 1823."

"Thought you might like it. The cover's a bit tatty, but the pages look like they are all there."

He turned his pale blue eyes to mine with delight. "Louisa, this is…" Suddenly he moved closer, kissed me on the cheek and then sprang back. "Uhm… sorry… I mean…"

I smiled at him. "I'm glad you like it. And the kiss was fine, really. No problem." He actually kissed me. Another miracle! I leaned towards him and he flinched.

"Yes, I do… like it…" his face fell, "the book, I mean… you…" he gulped. "Didn't have to."

I peered up at him. "I knew you'd like it… the book."

"I've… nothing for you!" He rubbed the cover and I wished he was caressing me in the same way. "Louisa… I hope… this must have cost a fair bit! You shouldn't have."

"That's okay, Martin. It was an impulse buy. When I saw it, I knew you'd want it. Cost doesn't matter… if you like it."

"I do, oh I do." He looked at his watch. "I really must go – Joan will be waiting." He fled to the door and stopped. "Thank you for the tea and the biscuit."

"Any time and… Happy Christmas, Martin."

He opened the door and looked back. "Yes, Happy Christmas, Louisa."

Then he was gone, but as he headed downhill towards the Platt and home there was a spring in his step that had not been there earlier. Like Billy Wilson, Martin had some confidence.

At Sally's house I was all smiles and it had nothing to do with the wine I was drinking either.

"You look awfully happy, Louisa," she told me when she was showing off her crèche display.

"Been a good day, Sally. Good wine too."

She clapped her hands. "I'm glad, so glad. I've seen how rundown you were getting."

"Yep."

Sally looked out the window and said, 'Oh there's goes the Doc in his fancy car. Lord he can be nasty! I heard tell he tore a strip off old Mrs. Hawes the other day."

I craned my neck and saw Martin glance up at the window and saw his face brighten as he saw my face, or so I hoped that was the reason. "Oh, I don't know Sally. Sometimes…" I had to stop and take a deep breath, "sometimes he can be quite… human. You just have to catch him at the right time."

Sally looked from me to the retreating car and back. "A Christmas day miracle, I suppose."

I sipped at the red wine and knew my eyes were twinkling. "Yeah," I told her, "something like that."


	2. Chapter 2

**Written purely for entertainment purposes and no infringement of any copyright by Buffalo Pictures is implied or inferred.**

My Aunt Joan opened the door of her farmhouse and the smell of roast chicken, white potatoes, sprouts, cranberries in a sauce, stuffing and hot gravy, plus bacon assaulted my nose. I almost shuddered at the sheer amount of calories and fat that we were about to consume.

"Oh, Marty, do come in!" said Joan, her ruddy face in a huge smile. She hugged me and buried her face in my chest.

I managed to hug her briefly then parted from her strong arms. Ducking into the low roofed kitchen where Joan had likely been cooking all day, I could see everything was spic-and-span, cleaned and arranged. "You've been busy. Here." I gave her the bundle of hot house flowers one of my patients had dropped off in gratitude, for as the woman put it "This is the very first Christmas in years I can actually walk without those shooting pains in my toes."

I told her that if she'd stay on her Allopurinol, as I suggested, then she may stay symptom free, if she also stayed on her diet.

Joan smelled the flowers. "Nice." She gave me a sly glance. "From a patient."

"I knew you'd like them," I grunted.

The radio was playing Vivaldi's _Magnificat_ and as I heard the ancient hymn I relaxed, but I didn't quite know why I felt tense.

"You okay?" Joan asked.

Words came out automatically. "Fine."

Her blue eyes pierced me. "No you're _not_." She patted my arm. "But that's the way you are."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "Mm." I turned to her cooker. "You've been cooking all day?"

Joan smiled at me. "It's _Christmas_, Martin. When else can I get a chance to entertain?"

I shrugged.

"Care for a sherry?"

"Perhaps with dinner."

"Oh, la de dah. I'm honored."

"Joan…" I stopped myself. "That would be fine."

Joan went back to stirring gravy. "A drink on Christmas. Lord, what's got into you?"

I shrugged again.

"Thought we'd eat in the front room. Got the table cleaned off and everything."

Joan usually kept piles of crochet materials on her oak table, saying she kept it all handy for rainy days. I knew that on the farm even on rainy days there was plenty to do, so the crochet things stayed in the pile.

I went into the front room and the sight of the table clean, polished, and decorated with greenery, candles and ribbons was impressive. I recalled similar displays at home but there our housekeeper and maid made up all our decorations.

Home – home seemed very far away and distant now, after two years in Portwenn, surgery in London, vascular training, general surgery, medical school, university… I paused that thought, not wanting to return mentally to boarding school.

Joan carried in the sherry and set the bottle down. "You seem to be in a brown study."

"Thinking."

"Oh?" She straightened the table settings.

"A large table for two."

"Well, Marty, who should have invited? Muriel Steel? She can't travel much anymore from High Trees, and given the history of Danny and Louisa… well, that wouldn't feel right."

I nodded assent. "I see."

"How is Louisa? Have you seen her? I heard…"

I held up my hand. "She is well. I saw her today."

Something started hissing and bubbling on the cooker and Joan ran off to the kitchen.

In Joan's absence I ran my fingers over the old table, feeling the cracks and fissures of the wood, sealed under many layers of wax. Uncle Phil told me the wood of this table came from a shipwreck back in his great-grandfather's day, so the wood must be well over a hundred and fifty years old. How many ocean voyages had this wood made?

Joan bustled back in. "Chicken's about done. Couldn't find a turkey."

"Chicken is fine."

"I bought this one," she laughed. "I can't be killing my birds when I have a taste for chicken, not when I need them as layers."

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Just enjoy the day, Martin. You said you saw Louisa Glasson earlier?" she asked, returning to that single comment.

"Yes. She asked me in, to her house; I was on a walk. Gave me tea and biscuits. Plus a book."

"A present? Louisa gave you a present?"

"Yes… it's an old book on surgery. Quite valuable, I'm certain. Early nineteen century. Don't know how she found it. Remarkable condition, given its age."

Joan smiled. "My… I'll call Caroline so she can put the news on Radio Portwenn."

"Oh come on!"

"Calm down, Martin. Just teasing."

I headed to the kitchen. "I'll help you carry in the food."

In short order we were eating and the dinner was good, but I took small portions to make up for the variety. Joan was tucking into a second helping of potatoes and chicken while I slowly ate a roll, my first.

"Marty," Joan said, "I'm sorry about - sorry, I _upset_ you."

"No harm done."

She slowly chewed her food, scraped up the last dollop of gravy with the side of her fork and sat back. "A fine dinner."

"You're a good cook, Joan."

"No thanks to my mother, your grandmother. I think the woman could burn water, but always hired good cooks. And my Phil was quite a cook. He could turn the most meager of fixings into a feast. When we started out we were quite poor and almost strangers."

Joan got up and came back with plates for the pudding. "More sherry? God, you haven't had any at all."

"It's alright, Joan. How did you and Uncle Phil meet?"

She laughed. "I came down on the train to see Tintagel with a friend, and she knew this little hotel in Padstow. We were on the bus heading over there when the engine failed – ended up spending the night in the hotel where the Whale is today." She laughed. "That's when I met Phil in the pub."

"Quite a dissimilarity between a London girl and Cornish farmer," I replied.

"Oh my yes." She laughed. "My friend had gone back to our room with a headache and I was alone in the pub. Suddenly this muscular, short and sun-burned man was at my table, pulling out the chair. He plunked two pints down, looked me and and down and said, 'My name's Phil Norton, What's yours, love?'"

She stopped and took a taste of her sherry.

"I see."

"His mates had put him up to trying to make headway with 'the London bird' as he put it." She grinned. "And as they say…"

"That was that," I replied.

Joan smiled. "Pretty much. My father and mother were not at all pleased with me, you know."

I nodded. "Seems to run in the family."

She nodded. "We are what we are Martin. Hard to change the way we are and I'll not sully the day with airing dirty family linen." Joan sipped at her drink. "All long ago." She wiped at her eyes. "Long ago. Phil offered me freedom from my parents."

I knew that things with Joan and Phil had not gone well and she'd found comfort with John Slater, a boatman. But when Phil got sick, Joan tended him until he died. By then Slater had gone away but had come back two summers ago. Then he left as he had found he had heart failure and did not want to burden my aunt. I had to give Slater credit for having some honor at the end, yet here was my aunt all alone, living with ghosts. Might it have been better if he'd spoken to her, told her his story? Then stayed with her for the time he had left?

I looked at my watch. "Getting late."

"You'll not be staying?"

The light was fading. "Perhaps for a while."

Joan stood. "I got you a little something."

"You shouldn't have," I called after her retreating back for I knew how meager her finances were.

She came in lugging a carton. "It's not much."

"From the size of it…" I recalled my lessons. "Thank you."

She put the carton down in front of me. "I had a number of antique shops looking for that. Managed to get a line on one over in Dorset. I hope you like it."

I opened the pasteboard flaps and found a battered mantel clock looking up at me, the hands frozen at 5:12. "This is…" I could see the case was wood and well-aged.

"You do like a puzzle. The shopkeeper says the case is fine, oak, but the works are in pretty bad shape. I thought on long winter evenings you might find it handy, unless you are planning on taking up model ship building."

The case appeared to be in good shape and the glass front piece was not cracked, only clouded by grime and age. "Expensive, Auntie Joan. I can't… accept this!" The case front was decorated with brass work, green with verdigris. "When cleaned up and put right…" I saw her shining eyes. "A lot of work."

"Yes, you can, Marty. The man said the works are pretty well bollixed. But you'll sort it." She bent down and kissed my cheek. "Happy Christmas, Martin."

Third time today I'd either been kissed or have kissed. "Thank you. This is…" I ran my hand down the case. "Very fine. Very…" I flashed on the cold and empty winter evenings ahead. "I can fix this."

Joan clapped her hands. "You always can Martin. That's the thing about you. You see things through. Now," she turned towards the kitchen, "the pudding."

I opened the clock front and examined the face making out a fine etching of planets and moons. I followed Joan and she was just taking the pudding from the oven where it had been warming. "That's a very excellent…" I had to clear my throat, "gift."

My aunt set the pudding on a tray and touched it gently. "Nice and warm. Good thing on a cold day, don't you think?"

Winter was hard here on the coast, where the winds swept in off the sea south of Ireland all the way from North America. The village would be battered by rain, clouds, fog, and snow occasionally, but the timepiece would keep my mind active while I tore it down, carefully cleaning all the pieces, rubbing them free of corrosion, replacing the pieces too damaged to be salvaged, putting right what could be.

Working on clocks was a hobby, my only real hobby, since my grandfather gave me a watch to dismember when I was six. That was the year after the frog, the one I'd been given to dissect.

"Unless you are looking for something else to keep you warm?" Joan's words intruded on my thoughts. "Or _someone_."

"Hm? Sorry."

"Some sorts turn to drink, but not you. They crawl into the bottle. You're far too intelligent for that."

I'd tried that, but I wouldn't share my sorrow over a lost love with Joan. When Edith Montgomery left for Canada twenty years ago, I was shattered and had tried drink. It was one of the reasons I don't touch it much at all now.

Joan said, "Come on. Let's eat this pudding before it gets cold." She snapped off the overhead lights, poured a dram of brandy over it and lit it, the blue flame lighting up the cramped kitchen.

The light made the room more mysterious, rather than illuminating. Christmas traditions were an odd mix of customs, both ancient and modern, and I'd just as soon ignore it. But those around me, when I was in school, or back in London, or out here, did their best to force my inclusion in their festivities. "Pagan customs plus God. An odd mix."

Joan laughed. "You know in an earlier age you'd have been burned at the state for heresy."

"Times change."

"Not that much, but let's eat," she said, so back at table she dished out portions for each of us.

"Tasty," I told her after tasting the rich cake laced with fruit, peel, nuts, and rich rum.

"Muriel Steel's recipe. When she, Helen Pratt, and I were all newlyweds, we traded recipes back and forth. I've used Helen's once in a while, even my grandmother's, but this is the one I like."

At the mention of the name Steel, I felt my gut clench. I rose and went into the kitchen and turned up the radio to hear the Bach Cantata better. I turned about and found Joan staring at me.

"I've upset you," she said.

I glanced away. "I'd better be getting back."

"You won't stay longer?" I saw her lips quiver.

By reply I slipped into my Burberry.

She came to the door with me. "You don't have to be so alone, Marty. You really don't."

"There might be a call. People will get burned, or sick, or…"

Joan sighed. "Always the doctor." She looked up at me sadly and patted my arm. "Oh, I got the hamper. Thank you."

I routinely ordered a large hamper for her from Fortnum & Mason. "I hope you enjoy it - just not all at once."

That made her laugh.

"Thank you for dinner, Aunt Joan."

She smiled wistfully. "I'm very glad you came, unlike last year."

"Had a patient," I said. It was the truth, for I'd been pretty miserable last year, feeling like an exile. I still missed surgery, but the was a dead end, so I let it go.

She sighed. "Well, Happy Christmas, Martin." She embraced me again and I did hug her back.

I picked up the clock box and went to my car. Joan stood in the doorway, waving and I nodded to her as I drove away. The farm was a burden to Joan and I wondered why she didn't sell up and retire. She'd been out here for so long and it was her home - that was the answer - must be.

It was the work of minutes to get back to the village and I saw Louisa walking along the street, so I stopped and rolled down the passenger side window.

Louisa bent down so we faced each other. "Martin! Hello!" From her flushed face I could see she had been celebrating. "Back from Joan's?"

I nodded. "Had dinner."

"Me as well… Just heading home."

The wind picked up and I saw her shiver. "You'll get cold, get in." I reached across and opened the door. "I'll drive you."

"Oh… okay." She slid inside, her black bubble coat billowed about her as she sat. "I could have walked."

I shrugged. "Going my way." I looked hard at her. "Seat belt?"

"Oh, yeah." She did the harness and I admired her slender hands as she did up the buckle. "Now I'm safe."

I didn't know what to say to that so I drove slowly through the empty streets to her house.

"No one's about - they're all still having a good feed or sleeping it off," she chuckled. "No one's out but us."

I parked the car at her door.

She said, "Ahm, thanks for the buggy ride."

"What?"

"Oh just something my dad used to say."

"Ah." A wind gust rocked the car as I was trying to think of something else to add.

She relieved me of the burden when she spoke. "Did you have a nice Christmas dinner at Joan's?"

"Too much food - too many calories - too much fat." I wrinkled my nose. "Typical fare."

"Martin, it doesn't mean you have to eat like that everyday!"

"No. Good thing we don't."

After another few seconds of awkward silence, I thought of the book. "Louisa… the book… that was very… uhm, _unexpected_."

She smiled at me and the interior of the car lit up like sunrise. "I knew you'd like it. You don't do surgery anymore… but…" she bit at her lip, "I knew you'd like it."

"I do, I do."

She unsnapped her seat belt. "Best be off."

"Thank you again," I managed to say as she opened the door.

In one swift move she turned back to me and kissed me full on the mouth with her hand at the back of my neck pressing herself against me as much as possible. Her lips were soft and smooth and I tasted her lipstick, which was cherry flavored, while her long hair brushed across my cheek and neck. She smelled of flowers and promise "Martin," she sighed after she broke away. "I…"

"Louisa… uhm…"

"Happy Christmas Martin," she said grinning, her eyes two inches from mine.

"Louisa, I… want to… say…"

Then my mobile rang and she bowed her head.

"Ellingham," I grunted into it.

A woman's voice was yelling out of it. "Doc! Doc Martin? It's Mrs. Wintle! My old man took a fall down the steps, slipped in a puddle he did, and he's bleedin' like a stuck pig! Can you come? I got your number from your Aunt when you didn't answer at surgery!"

"God," I groaned.

Louisa said sadly, "Duty calls. They live out past the main road."

I went to full medical mode. "Is he conscious? Bleeding from where?"

Louisa slid away from me and my heart ached to see her go. "Bye Martin." Her hand touched mine as she got out.

Part of me watched her go while the rest, most I am sorry to say, paid attention to the woman's answers.

"Back of his head, like!"

"Is he breathing?"

"Oh yeah, yeah."

"Where is your house?"

"Well, out the moor road, past the three-way roundabout, turn left on the Gryll's farm road…" the woman nattered on in the typical way of country people giving dir3ctions.

I slid the car back into drive. "Yes, yes, keep him warm. Put a compress on the wound… A clean towel would work." I had my medical case in the back seat so I didn't have to go to surgery for anything. One thing I've learned in Portwenn was to be ready for the unexpected.

I drove down the hill to the Platt, did a three point turn and raced back up the hill. Louisa stood outside her house, half waving to me. Unexpected, yes. Unexpected. Christmas was _unexpected_ this year - for me.

The woman on the mobile was now yelling at me about how she wasn't going to ruin one of her good towels, for her drunken sot of a husband.

"Yes, yes, I'm on my way," I snapped and flipped closed my mobile.

I looked back in my rear view mirror and there stood Louisa in front of her house, and she stayed there until a bend of the road cut off my view.

I sighed. "Happy Christmas, Louisa," I said then pressed on to my patient. Perhaps next year Christmas might be a little different.

THE END

**I thought this would be a one chapter bit, and it grew to two, but only two as I too wondered what Martin was thinking. Thanks for reading and enjoying Doc Martin in all its forms.**

**Best wishes, cheers, Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year,**

**Robspace54**


End file.
